In Need of Assistance
by Fernandidilly-yo
Summary: This has become tradition now, Peter comes down to R&D to have lunch with Gwen, venting to her about the sorrows of working for inconsiderate Superheroes. Gwen has dubbed it as 'Therapy Hour'. "I am too good for them," Peter says into the crook of his arm. Gwen turns the page of her book, "far too good."
1. Chapter 1

**This has been sitting in my drafts for months, and I am now using its silliness to push through my writer's block. If you liked my fic _Brace for Impact_ then you'll probably enjoy this as well. **

**Disclaimer \- I own nothing, and will continue to own nothing.**

* * *

 **In Need of Assistance-**

"Why do I do this?" Peter moans to Gwen, slumped against the elevator door with half a dozen coffees balanced precariously in hand- there are many benefits to having sticky-fingers, one of which is being physically able to hold large drink orders without spilling them.

Gwen smiles, all purple lipstick and pearly white teeth. "Because you're a poor, desperate, college student," she says, far too happy about the fact.

Peter thumps the back of his head against the steel wall. "Oh yeah," he mumbles, like he could possibly forget. _"That."_

"I mean it could be worse," Gwen says, hefting up a box full of who knows what as the elevator _'dings'_ to let her know it's her floor. "You could be Pepper."

Peter makes a face, scrunching his nose in something like disgust, something very closely related to horror. "True," he admits as Gwen gives him a wink and strolls off the lift to her somewhat normal job, _the rat._

Peter pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and adjusts his too large sweater-sleeves, doing his best to look put together and presentable _(ha!)._ The young man is in the middle of trying to flatten his puffy mask-hair when the doors chime open, and there sit the Avengers in variations of dress and alertness.

"Good morning, Peter," Steve greets from his place at the kitchen table, the only person in the room who is fine with being awake at this hour.

"Morning, Steve," Peter chirps back, beginning to float around the room and hand out the coffees. (He has them all memorized now, doesn't even have to write down their orders anymore- _because Peter has been at this job,_ _Just. That. Long_ _.)_

"Want a muffin, Pete?" Sam asks from his place by the oven, cheek smeared with batter and hands covered by Hulk oven-mitts.

"Thanks," Peter smiles as he grabs a blueberry one. A year ago, he might've declined the offer, but Peter has learned to never turn down free food, and to _never ever_ _under any circumstances_ turn down Sam's food, because that would be a crime against mankind itself.

"What's on the agenda today?" Tony asks as he strolls by, grease-covered and smelling of motor-oil. Peter makes a mental note to check in with Pepper about the man's sleep schedule.

Peter pulls out his company issued Starkphone and flips through. "Press conference to talk about the Stark Relief Teams and S.I.'s work with Damage Control at 2:00, and then a meetup with the Fantastic Four at 5:00." It's actually at 6:00, but if Peter says 5:00 that gives him about a 65% chance that the Avengers will be on time.

"And you'll be accompanying us?" Tony gives Peter a _Look_ , one eyebrow raised, eyes too wide as he stares at Peter over the rim of his coffee cup.

Meaning that if Peter even _tries_ to wiggle his way out of this one there will be some sort of backlash for him to deal with later- and Peter _does not_ have time to deal with Press Releases or calming down the guys from Payroll.

He has three different tests this week alone, he will not let the Avengers cost him any more of his study time.

He Will Not.

Doing an admirable job of keeping in his chest-heaving sigh contained (he's had much practice) Peter says, "of course," without actually glancing up from his phone.

And though Peter might not be looking, he can _absolutely feel_ the shark-like grins aimed at his head.

* * *

"So, how's life?" Clint asks from his place next to Peter, squished in one of the two SUV's they had taken to the press conference. He smells like jellybeans for some odd reason, Peter wrinkles his nose at the man.

"Well I'm stuck here having to bully a bunch of superheroes into doing their _job_ instead of working on my ethics paper," Peter says, texting rapid fire to tell Pepper a quick summary of what went down at the press release.

Clint hums, his elbow jabs Peter in the ribs 'accidentally', so Peter does it right back. "You act like you're our babysitter," Clint says.

Peter glances up from his phone, gives Clint his best _are-you-kidding-me_ look, and asks, slightly pointed, "why do you smell like jellybeans?"

Clint makes a considering noise as he pulls at his jacket, turning one of the pockets outward. _"Oh!"_ he exclaims. "I must have left my jellybeans in here," he pauses making a mournful sound in the back of his throat. "Damn. They're all melted."

Peter pretends that Hawkeye isn't pouting over candy, he also valiantly pretends that he didn't used to have crushes on The Avengers as a whole, because when he thinks about that something like second-hand embarrassment for his past-self and grief for his current-self war inside of him for dominance.

Peter gestures to Clint, who is still picking at the glob of rainbow in his pocket. "I am essentially a high-end babysitter with a better title, and slightly better pay, you cannot convince me otherwise."

"I was wonderin' why you smelt like an Umpa Lumpa threw up on ya," Bucky says from Peter's other side. Making a face when Clint pulls off a bit of candy and throws it at him.

"I don't understand you man," Sam shakes his head at the archer, ignoring Clint and Bucky's squabbling. "One second you're all kickass and the next you're like a wild five-year-old."

Clint scoffs at Sam, even with Bucky's hand fisted in his short hair. _"A kickass five-year-old,"_ he defends, and then Bucky shoves some of the jellybean-mess into Clint's spluttering mouth.

* * *

"Your job is _awesome,"_ Johnny snickers as he walks over, and it's all Peter can do not to hit him.

"My job is the _worst,"_ Peter hisses, because he may be half a room away from where the rest of the Avengers and Fantastic Four are talking, but he isn't delusional enough to think them above eavesdropping.

"You get to boss around the _Avengers,"_ Johnny says, draping an arm over Peter's shoulders, leaning heavily against him, and at any other time that would be okay, but Peter has something called a _secret identity,_ so he lets himself get thrown off balance by Johnny's added weight, before stepping away.

"Yeah maybe," Peter says, shoving Johnny off of him. "More like I have to trick or bribe them into doing any actual work. Can you imagine if I tried to give _Tony Stark_ orders?" Peter whispers incredulously, "not gonna happen."

Johnny looks a little surprised when Peter restores their personal space, but he recovers quickly, charming smile back in place, eyes twinkling. "Hey, you wanna grab a burger after this? I don't think we've hung out since-"

Peter discreetly stomps on Johnny's foot. _"Shhh,"_ he hushed him, earning a glare from Johnny. "I don't usually hang out with superheroes off the clock Mr. Storm, but thanks," he says, giving Johnny the fakest smile he can manage before walking away.

Peter pulls out his phone as he makes it to the other side of the room, dodging Clint as he tries to ruffle Peter's hair and ignoring Natasha's eyes on him as he weaves his way over to the bathroom.

 **Pepher-** Dude! Secret ID here!  
 **Pepher-** Peter Parker doesn't hang out with Johnny Storm

 **John-dee-** nah. I'm pretty sure he's my best fiend  
 **John-dee-** and we hang out alll the time  
 **John-dee-** or we used 2  
 **John-dee-** before he got all busy  
 **John-dee-** also U owe me new toes  
 **John-dee-** mine R all bruised noww

 **Pepher-** Dude. Quit sending everything separately.  
You're blowing up my phone.

 **John-dee-** I  
 **John-dee-** will  
 **John-dee-** never  
 **John-dee-** stop **  
John-dee-**. **  
John-dee-** I **  
John-dee-** have **  
John-dee-** unlimited **  
John-dee-** texting **  
John-dee-** and **  
John-dee-** I **  
John-dee-** will  
 **John-dee-** use  
 **John-dee-** it  
 **John-dee-** the  
 **John-dee-** way  
 **John-dee** \- god  
 **John-dee-** intended  
 **John-dee-** !  
 **John-dee-** !  
 **John-dee-** !

 **Pepher-** god please STOP  
 **Pepher-** I have learned my lesson. Now shut up.

 **John-dee-** well since U asked so nicely

 **Pepher-** you aren't discreet at all  
 **Pepher-** the avengers don't know I'm into bugs.

 **John-dee-** seriously dude. Into bugs? Is that what we're callling it now?

 **Pepher-** this is my Starkphone, gotta be careful

 **John-dee-** well U aren't discreet either..  
 **John-dee-** hiding out in the bathroom  
 **John-dee-** what is this a stupid rom-com?

 **Pepher-** no worse. This is my life.

 **John-dee-** U could always just tell'em

 **Pepher-** yeah and then I'll still be their assistant and work for S.I. and be one of the Avengers and we'll live happily ever after.

 **John-dee-** the sarcasm is literally leaking out of my phone  
 **John-dee-** ur already like 90% sure they know anyways  
 **John-dee-** it wouldn't matter

 **Pepher-** I'm now 96% sure. Steve made a comment about Spidey the other day that kind of maybe alluded to them knowing.  
 **Pepher-** also. It would matter, because not being sure if they know, and being positive that they know are totally two different things.

 **John-dee-** it's 4% Pete.  
 **John-dee-** I don't think much would change.

 **Pepher-** yeah well, we've been playing this weird game of pretend for two years and I don't think I wanna change that now. At least not until I have to.

 **John-dee-** ur life gives me a headache  
 **John-dee-** U have like a triple identity  
 **John-dee** \- it's excessive

 **Pepher-** says the guy with like 5 cars

 **John-dee-** if U don't come out of the bathroom soon they're gonna send someone in there to help

 **Pepher-** god forbid

 **John-dee-** wanna grab burgers later?

 **Pepher-** yeah meet you after patrol.

 **John-dee-** (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

* * *

See this wasn't supposed to be Peter's life.

When Peter first applied to Stark Industries at the whopping age of sixteen, he had been hoping for an unpaid internship. However, when Tony Stark saw his grades along with his IQ, and his knack for science and all things tech- Peter had been brought on right away.

For a while there, Peter had been down in Research and Development which had been perfect, building tech and bouncing ideas off of other people was totally up Peter's alley. Until in the middle of his senior year of high school, a seventeen-year-old Peter had been offered a 'promotion' of sorts.

Tony Stark's Personal Lab Assistant.

Peter had jumped at the idea, starstruck (or should he say _Star(k)struck_ ) and far too naïve to Tony Stark's evil ways. He'd of course said yes, and Peter bounced back and forth from R&D to Tony's private workshop, in what he would now call foolish bliss.

The thing is, Tony Stark is a whirlwind of a man, it doesn't take much to get swept away in the excitement and chaos of it all. And honestly, if you asked Peter how he came to be the Assistant to the Avengers, he'd tell you he had been tricked or bribed- or a combination of both.

"They torture me Gwen," Peter whines, overdramatic from his place draped over a desk, one arm slung over his eyes the other hanging off to the side.

Gwen pokes Peter on the nose. "I know," she says, not really paying attention.

This has become tradition now, Peter comes down to R&D to have lunch with Gwen, venting to her about the sorrows of working for inconsiderate Superheroes- all the while she doesn't shove in his face how wonderful it is down here in the land of Research and Development.

Gwen has dubbed it as 'Therapy Hour'.

"I am too good for them," Peter says into the crook of his arm.

Gwen turns the page of her book, "far too good."

"I should quit," Peter goes on, "why haven't I quit?"

Gwen takes a bite of her Pad Thai, "because you'd live in a box," she says, mouth full.

Peter glares up at the ceiling, "boxes can be nice," he says, "I could live in a fancy refrigerator box."

Gwen kicks at the bottom of Peter's dangling shoe. "You dream big Parker," she says, turning yet another page.

"I could transfer back down here," Peter goes on, imagining days filled with experimentation and science instead of following around a bunch of misfit heroes and trying to keep them from causing another public scandal.

"Your pay is way better," Gwen says, she sounds disinterested, probably because they've had variations of this exact same conversation too many times to count.

"Dang," Peter mumbles. "I hate it when you're right."

"You must hate me a lot then."

"All the time."

"I apologize for the interruption," Jarvis calls from the ceiling and Peter groans loudly, smacking a hand to his face in response. "But it seems that Thor has caused a kitchen fire and requires assistance."

Peter sits up so fast he almost spills Gwen's food, he catches it more on instinct than anything else. "How is this my problem?" he asks no one in particular, or maybe everyone, perhaps he's just asking the universe in general. "How is this an aspect of my job? _Also!_ Why is Thor in the kitchen?! I know Sam didn't give him his kitchen privileges back after the last incident."

He heaves a sigh so heavy he feels it in his bones, rolling to his feet as he ignores Gwen's snickering from behind him, he feels like a disgruntled parent- How is this his life? Why is this his life? What did he do to deserve this?

"Tell'em I'll be there in two minutes," Peter mumbles as he makes his way back to the elevator.

* * *

Peter's main job title is Tony Stark's Personal Assistant, which he quickly learned actually means _Assistant to the Avengers as a whole_. (and lord if he had only known that when he took on the job…idiot that he was, he probably still would have taken it)

So his job goes from organizing fundraisers and talk show appearances to dealing with the board of directors and numerous donors (he and Pepper have become close over the years, bonding over their shared suffering) Peter sort of deals with whatever is thrown at him, and when he first started out that had scared the crap out of Peter, but at this point he's more resigned than anything.

The nice thing about his job, however, is that Peter gets to help oversee the projects down in Research and Development, he goes down there every Wednesday and just gets to tinker with the team and give input before Tony makes an appearance on Thursday to give his seal of approval- it's by far Peter's favorite part of the job.

Unfortunately, Harley also works in R&D.

"Y'know," Peter drawls, sticking the tiny spoon into his frozen yogurt before popping it into his mouth. "I am technically your boss."

Harley scoffs, soldering iron in hand, goggles over his eyes. "No you're not. You're the boss's whipping boy." He tosses the iron down, the smell of burnt metal doesn't really register in Peter's brain anymore, he doubts it does in Harley's either.

Harley picks up his own frozen yogurt, (Peter's buying today, his punishment for losing the bet) before he says, mouth full, "and I have the boss wrapped around my finger- so technically I am _your_ boss."

Peter raises an eyebrow, scrunching his nose in protest. "You do not have Tony wrapped around your finger," he argues weakly, he cannot imagine having any power over Tony Stark and his iron will. (Pun intended)

Harley raises a skeptical eyebrow, swallowing his bite before he says, "I'm eighteen and don't answer to the head of the department, only person who oversees me is the Boss Man himself."

Peter pulls his legs off of the workbench he's sitting on, his converses squelching against the metal as he sits up, blinking at the other boy for a moment. "Dang it," he says, and then, "wanna switch lives?"

"You could not pay me enough to take on your job," Harley says, spinning around in an office chair.

Peter leans forward, "my benefits are _amazing,"_ he says in a pleading voice.

Harley shakes his head, eyes closed, spoon hanging out of his mouth. "No amount of benefits could outweigh the negatives, sorry Pete."

Peter sighs, slumps back onto the workbench, "how'd I get roped into this in the first place?"

"You're too trusting, dude," Harley tells him, "Tony asked me to be his lab assistant back when I first moved to New York, but I know a trap when I see one."

Peter stares at Harley with something close to admiration, "you dodged one heck of a bullet," he says over a breath, letting himself go boneless.

Harley kicks Peter in the ankle, Peter tries to kick him back but misses when Harley scoots the chair away. "Yeah well, I know how Tony Stark works. And I'm fine steering clear of that black hole."

* * *

 _"_ _Pepper,"_ Peter whispers, frantic, one of his hands flapping at his side as he sneaks into her office, shutting the door quietly behind himself. "You _have_ to help me," he pleads as he approaches her desk.

"What did they do now?" she asks, leaning back and lacing her fingers together.

Peter's too jittery to sit in one of the chairs so he paces back and forth, tugging at his jacket sleeves with hyper hands. "Y'know how the team is scheduled to appear on 'ellen'?" he asks, to which Pepper nods. "They are _insisting_ that I go with them to California," he whisper-shouts, wishing he had worn his glasses today, so he'd have something to fiddle with.

Pepper purses her lips, "you might like California Peter, you could look at it as a free vacation, I'm sure Tony would give you a few hours to sightsee."

Peter slaps his palms to Pepper's desk, she doesn't even blink. "This wouldn't be a _vacation,"_ Peter hisses, "a vacation is the Avengers being 2,798 miles across the country while I lay in pajamas all day and eat bonbons until I throw up."

Pepper raises an eyebrow, "sounds fattening," she says.

Peter nods vigorously, "yes and it's how I planned to spend the next three days, _but now they are forcing me to go with them!"_

Pepper pats Peter's hand still clutching to her desk. "I'm sure you can eat bonbons on the private jet," she says.

Peter throws up his hands, exasperated and betrayed, "Pepper- _Pepper,_ you are supposed to be on _my_ side."

Pepper gives him a sort of _what-can-you-do_ smile, her shoulders coming up in a shrug. "I'm on the company's side, and if you go with the Avengers there's a 30% less chance of disaster occurring."

Peter pulls a hand down his face, "why do I have to be responsible for superheroes? _I'm not even a responsible person in general!"_

Pepper nods knowingly, "when you're with them they're too busy teasing you to cause much trouble anywhere else."

Peter lets himself flop down into one of Pepper's too squishy chairs, his head thumping the back. "I am essentially a sacrificial lamb," he bemoans, eyes up on the ceiling as he resigns himself to his fate.

"And we at Stark Industries appreciate your sacrifice Peter," Pepper says, not sounding sorry at all.

* * *

 **I needed something easy and familiar to write, what's better than going back to my writing roots- Spidey and the Avengers? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**

 **Please leave a comment they give me life. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**So two days after I posted this I realized I missed a prime opportunity for a punny name, and I was kicking myself. So yes, I changed it. \ (•◡•) /**

* * *

 **Chapter Two-**

Peter's walking back from his morning lecture, his messenger bag thumping against his hips, his phone peacefully dead and therefore _silent,_ in his back pocket- when someone bursts from a batch of hedges and gives Peter a placebo heart-attack.

"What is _wrong_ with you?!" Peter squawks at Johnny, his voice embarrassingly high pitched, hand still clutching at his chest as he glares at the blond.

Johnny's smile is far too wide, not remorseful at all. Ever since he figured out how he can scare Peter without setting off his spider-sense beforehand he has been getting more and more creative with how he sneaks up on Peter. "Just thought I'd pop in," he says, somehow popping both P's.

It's excessive.

Peter makes his glare that much deadlier, he has perfected it over the past two years- he's had to in order to survive the Avengers, his glare does not take on just mere mortal men, it must be strong enough to melt _bone_ \- or at least the drive to cause catastrophe and/or spend all of S.I's research funds on Asgardian metals.

Peter steps away, rolling his eyes as he asks, "what are you doing here?" and then twisting so he's facing Johnny, walking backward and dodging other students like a pro. "Also, how did you know where I was?"

Johnny shrugs, jogging a few steps to catch up with Peter. "I texted Gwen."

Peter blows out a resigned raspberry, glancing up to the slightly overcast sky. He should have figured that. It was a mistake to introduce them, they _team up_ on Peter- which, by the way, should not be allowed, his friends do not get to go and form some sort of _alliance_ against him.

Doing so would constitute them as evil masterminds, and Peter cannot continue to live in a world where he is outsmarted by Gwen and Johnny.

Only thing that could possibly be worse is if they somehow managed to rope Harley into their evil club.

"Don't get all pouty on me, dude," Johnny says, draping an arm over Peter's shoulders as Peter turns back to face forward. Peter tells himself the only reason he doesn't shove Johnny off is because it's cold and Johnny is a living heated-blanket, that is the _only_ reason. "I come baring good news."

Peter glances at the other man, squinting in suspicion from behind his glasses. "Last time you said that you dragged me on a road trip that ended with us fighting aliens."

Johnny scoffs so loudly it sounds like it hurts on its way out. "That was _one_ time. _One Time."_

"One time is already too many times," Peter argues, indignant.

"You're only saying that because that one alien tried to hum-"

Peter slaps his palm over Johnny's mouth abruptly, cutting the other man off. _"Is that never talking about it again?!"_ he whisper-screeches, and then makes a disgusted noise of surprised when Johnny licks his fingers.

"Fine!" Johnny says, smacking Peter's hand away when Peter tries to wipe his spit-covered fingers in Johnny's overly manicured hair- everyone thinks that windswept look is natural, but Peter knows better, _he's seen Johnny's haircare products_!

Johnny continues, "obviously someone is still sensitive-"

"Johnny, I swear to _Thor!"_

"-about Intergalactic Reproductive Social-Norms."

They both tumble into the grass as Peter tackles Johnny to the ground, his knee getting soaked in a mudpuddle in the process…it's totally worth it to hear the way Johnny squeals.

* * *

Peter walks off the elevator and onto the common floor of Avengers Tower and immediately regrets it.

Up on the large flat-screen is some slightly blurred news footage from yesterday, Spider-Man and The Human Torch taking on the Rhino in the middle of Manhattan.

Peter watches out of the corner of his eye as Spider-Man gets hit in the head with a manhole-cover, falling to the ground dazed and disoriented for a moment, The Human Torch scooping him up an instant before Rhino can finish the job.

Peter still has the scabbed over gash on his forehead, it reaches into his hair, still red and painful looking, but the most annoying thing about it is how much it _itches_.

Bucky hisses a sympathetic breath at the television. "That sure looks like it hurt," he says, glancing over to Peter with something twinkling behind his eyes, full of intent and not so secret meanings.

It's an expression that Peter does his absolute darndest to ignore.

Natasha's sitting at the kitchen table, reading over something in a language that Peter can't decipher. She glances up as he steps in, giving him a scan over. "One hell of a scrape," she comments, eye's on Peter's forehead.

Peter gives her the slowest blink that he can manage. "Yup," he says, deadpan, because if he allows any inflection into his tone it'll just come out as a thready scream.

"How'd it happen?" Steve asks, sitting down next to Natasha innocently, as he poses the question Bucky turns up the volume on the TV, making sure the sound carries.

The reporter on screen says, _"it looks like Spider-Man must have been suffering from some sort of head injury. The Human Torch had to escort him from the scene once Rhino was incapacitated. We hope that the Wall-Crawler got the medical attention he needed."_

Peter thinks that maybe this situation would be hilarious, if it were happening to anyone else, or maybe it's even funny right now, there's a nervous, borderline hysterical laugh begging to burst from his mouth that he has to convulsively swallow against, so maybe this is funny, maybe it is _fudging **hilarious.**_

Is this what an out of body experience feels like?

What constitutes an aneurysm as an aneurysm?

"I was…" Peter has to take a breath, staring the Black Widow and Captain America in the eye and blatantly lying to them- while not anything new -will never be easy.

"Skateboarding," Peter snatches onto the lie like a lifeline, (a 'lieline?'). "I was skateboarding and fell." It is, decidedly, an overused excuse, but it isn't the worst story Peter has told, so he will mark this one down as a small victory.

Nat hums at him, but her sharp green eyes don't leave Peter's for a second. She stares at Peter like a determined cat stalking its prey, and it's all Peter can do to stand his ground and not wither to the floor in a shaky puddle of nervous-sweat and guilty-tears.

"You should be more careful," Steve says, and he isn't laughing, not out loud, but Peter _knows_ , he can hear it in the undertone, and Steve is in fact _laughing._ "Make sure to wear a helmet next time, son."

Peter's upper lip is twitching, and he can't seem to make it stop. Natasha's eyes have locked onto the involuntary movement with deadly precision, and Peter pretends he hasn't developed a stress-induced tick.

"I will be sure to do that Cap," Peter promises, the words choked into a strangled-whisper.

* * *

"I should have known what I was signing up for," Peter says as he drags his fry through a pile of ketchup. "There is a designated psychologist on retainer for my department."

Gwen scrunches her nose in confusion from the other side of the booth. "But you're the sole person with your particular job description…?"

Peter swallows down his french-fry with difficulty, and says, with more intensity than Gwen deserves, _"yesssss."_

Gwen nods, her pony-tail bobbing on the back of her head, rubbing against the red vinyl of the seat. "Well it's not like you don't need one, I think you've gone over the edge, Petey-pie."

Peter leans back in the booth, his legs stretched along the seat, hanging out the side as he lounges. "The edge would be a welcome place at this point, I fell off _that_ metaphorically ledge about a year ago and have been in a free-fall ever since."

Gwen makes a noncommittal noise, stealing some of Peter's fries as she asks, "when do'ya think you'll hit the bottom?"

Peter sighs, thunking the back of his head against the window behind him. "With my luck, there is no bottom, just eternal nothingness until one day, _I_ _Die."_

"Sounds magical," Gwen says, throwing a fry at Peter's face.

* * *

"Mr. Stark," Peter tries again, a sort of pleading tone has entered his voice, _that_ is how desperate he is. _"Tony,_ please just sign the paperwork, I need payroll off my back, they have been sending me passive-aggressive borderline threatening emails." Peter holds up his phone, showing the multiple emails there, the latest in all caps with explanation-points instead of spaces between them.

How they so efficiently make an email seem intimidating Peter will never know.

"Have you not learned how to forge my signature yet, kid?" Tony asks from where he's hidden under machinery, it smells of singed metal and burned wires in here, it makes Peter want to go hide down in R&D and never leave.

But Colleen from payroll is _hunting_ him, and Peter is scared for his literal _life._

"If I knew how to do that, I'd have signed my transfer paperwork months ago," Peter throws back.

Tony scoffs from under- Peter thinks it's some sort of satellite. "If I remember correctly, Mr. Parker, you took on this job _willingly,"_ the man comments.

"I was _coerced,"_ Peter hisses back. "I was young and stupid and naive."

Tony rolls himself out into the open, grease smeared on his cheek, his hair sticking up wildly. "So…exactly the same?"

Peter shoves the paperwork at him and physically pries a screwdriver from Tony's hand and replaces it with a pen. "Signature on the yellow, initials on the pink and thumbprint here. Don't test me Mr. Stark I can get Pepper down here with one text, she _owes me."_

* * *

There are three coffee shops near Peter's College Campus.

There's a small place called 'Déjà Brew', that makes their own pastries and their drinks are rich and delicious. It's quiet enough to do homework in, and the chairs are plushy and comfortable. The downside is that it's more pricey, so Peter only camps out there when he is on a study binge.

Then there's another place, 'Joe's Joe', the atmosphere there could only be described as _grimy._ They water down their coffee and their snacks are either this side of soggy or just a hair away from burnt. The only reason Joe's is still in business is because their prices are dirt cheap and they are closest to campus- preying on helpless zombie-students and their desperate need for caffeine.

Then there's Peter favorite place, 'Kool Beans', who sits somewhere between the other two, a happy medium. It's a hipster place, artsy graffiti on the walls and a sitting place with a few scattered tables and a bar. The coffee is good, and their food is edible, so they win.

Peter frequents Kool Beans more than what is strictly necessary, (even for a young adult) but as an exhausted college kid, he fits in with all the other customers that haunt the coffee shop at all hours.

Peter limps into Kool Beans, windchimes singing overhead as he pushes open the door, he smiles tiredly at Aazeen as he walks over to the counter. Yes, Peter is on a first name basis with the baristas here, does this reflect on his life choices?

Absolutely.

"Hey, Peter," Aazeen smiles, her eye makeup is on _point_ today, and Peter kind of wants to ask her if she could make him look less like a corpse with her mad skillset. "Hard day?" she asks, probably because of Peter's black eye and split lip, not to mention his _sort-of, kind-of, little-bit, maybe-probably,_ broken ankle.

Doc Ock is rude and unnecessarily mean.

He is an unpleasant man, Peter's seriously considering quitting their amateur frisbee league, it's just not worth the physical and emotional pain it causes him on a bi-weekly basis.

 _Ha._

Peter smiles tiredly at Aazeen, it doesn't even feel fake on his face when he's talking to her, because Aazeen is a sweetheart and she is the _Keeper of the Coffee_. "Adulting is especially hard today," he replies, smirk still on his face, she doesn't even _know._

"Tell me about it," she agrees, "what will you have today?" she asks, dark eyes scrunching with her grin.

"Uhhh," Peter starts, tapping his chin contemplatively with a single finger. "I'm gonna be a total white girl today and have a caramel macchiato," he orders.

Aazeen types it into the cash register, "and you didn't even wear your ugg boots," she quips, winking at Peter with the statement.

Peter gasps, mock-scandalized, hand over his heart. "What a fraud I am," he bemoans, making Aazeen snort.

It's after Peter has paid and been handed his drink, making small talk with Aazeen the whole time she whipped it up, that he turns around and sees a man with dark-purple sunglasses and a redhead sitting at a corner table, smirks on their faces, a glint in their eye.

Peter marches over to them imminently, doing his best to cover over his limp. "This is not allowed," he says, there is no need for a greeting, because this is _blatant stalking._

Clint looks at Peter over the top of his sunglasses. "Nice to see you too, Peter," he says.

"This. Is Not. _Allowed."_ Peter hisses again, with _feeling,_ he has _Many Feelings, Many Intense **Feelings!**_

"I don't know what you're talking about," Clint says, taking a sip of his coffee, not breaking eye-contact with Peter even as he makes an exaggerated 'aah _hhh'_ sound after he swallows. "This is our favorite place. We come here all the time."

"Lies," Peter jabs a finger at the man, "I know all your favorite places, and this is not one of them. It's Nowhere Near The Tower."

Natasha doesn't say anything, just looks on as Clint progressively chips away at what's left of Peter's sanity. She's in a leather jacket and boots, her hair French-braided, which means Bucky needed something to do with his hands this morning.

Peter makes a mental-note to text Steve or Bucky to see how the man's doing.

"You don't know everything, Pete," Clint argues, smug behind his shades- also, sunglasses inside? What a loser. "We've got plenty of secrets."

"I don't know everything," Peter agrees, actively loosening his grip on his coffee cup so he doesn't break it…last time that happened Peter wore his drink for the rest of the day and Gwen wouldn't stop laughing at him.

"But I know Nat likes that one tea shop and you prefer Tony's brand of _So Dark It Rots Your Stomach-Lining_ coffee," Peter goes on, rapid-fire. "I also know that you stole Bucky's vodka and it's hidden in the airducts above the livingroom, _also,_ that you are the one that keeps eating Tony's imported chocolates- I saw you feed some to Lucky -and _by the way,_ you shouldn't be feeding dogs chocolate, even if it's just a little bit." By the end Peter's talking so fast he has to suck in a large breath when he's done. "I might not know all your secrets, Barton, but I know enough."

Clint looks vaguely mortified, maybe a tad bit impressed, mouth working for a moment before he mutters, " _touchy."_

Natasha smirks, eyes glinting with barefaced amusement. "We were sent to make sure you are alight," she says.

Peter suddenly remembers his scabbed over lip, the purple shadowing his right eye. The stalking suddenly makes sense, Spider-Man and Doc Ock fought it out last night in the middle of Time Square. Half the Avengers were on their own mission, the other half didn't make it to the fight until Doc Ock was knocked out and Spider-Man was webbing away to lick his wounds in private.

And well, Peter is 99.9% sure that they _know_ , it's the big red and blue elephant in the room.

So yeah, he maybe should have seen this coming.

"I'm peachy," Peter says, shrugging because if they aren't gonna come out and say it, then neither is he, he will _not_ lose the game, he refuses. "Peachy keen, swell, dandy."

"Well if you're ' _dandy'_ ," Clint remarks, chugging the rest of his drink.

Natasha gives Peter a scan-over, not even trying to hide it. "Fell off your skateboard again?" she asks, smug.

Peter's eye wants to twitch, he does everything in his power to stop it from doing so. "I was mugged, actually," he says, deadpan, staring right back at Natasha, _daring_ her to call him out on it.

Natasha blinks at him, "maybe you should learn some martial-arts, I'd be happy to teach you."

"Oh no," Clint says, crossing his legs, "that'd be too advanced for a beginner like Pete over here, gotta start off with small steps. First; how to throw a punch, then work your way up, how to duck, how to kick without falling on your ass. Y'know the kiddie stuff."

Peter's eye wins, starts twitching in that uncontrollable way, he feels a headache coming on. "I'm not much of a fighter," he forces himself to say.

"Obviously," Clint remarks, and it's all Peter can do not to break right here right now, but if they're gonna play it That Way than Peter is gonna give it his all.

"Plus," Peter goes on, tries to be casual as he says it, turning away from them, "I have asthma, physical exertion isn't exactly my forte."

He catches the way Clint's whole frame freezes in bewilderment out of the corner of his eye, doesn't miss the slight twitch Natasha's fingers give around her cup. Peter pretends he isn't looking, doesn't care, walking away from the two, and slowly losing it on the inside.

Two can play at this game, two can play at this game indeed.

* * *

 **So Avengers Endgame, huh? I am both incredibly ready and so very unprepared...lord.**

 **As always, comments give me life!**


	3. Chapter 3

**It's been a hot minute...**

* * *

 **Chapter Three-**

Peter is laying face-first in bed, probably staining his sheets with mud, and soot, and blood. (Which is probably a bad idea, because he does his own laundry now, and he has No Idea how to get blood stains out of cotton) When his Starkphone goes off from its place on his bedside table.

"Nn _nnooooo,"_ Peter moans at it, even as he flops over to snatch it up.

There are not many people that Peter would answer the phone for before the sun has fully risen- his Aunt May, Gwen, and- _"Pepper,"_ Peter greets, trying to inject some energy into his voice. It's a moot point, Peter's vocal cords no longer take orders from Peter's brain. They dishonorably resigned from their post about eight hours ago, when, instead of _sleeping,_ Peter put on his Spidey Suit and chased Electro through the city.

"How can I be of service?" Peter murmurs, his eyelids drooping even as he asks the question.

"I'm so sorry to be calling this early, Peter," Pepper says, and she does actually sound apologetic, so Peter forgives her. "But I need a favor."

Peter had planned on skipping his 9:00am lecture in favor of catching up on some of the sleep he's missed this week. It was his gift to himself, and it was going to be _Absolutely Glorious._

Peter flops over onto his back, phone still pressed to his ear, staring at his ceiling for a moment as he takes a deep breath and resigns himself to his inevitable fate.

"Sure," Peter says as he rolls into a sitting position. "What do you need?"

"There was an emergency in one of our European branches that needed to be taken care of right away… I am currently on a private jet headed to Italy."

Peter blinks at the X-Men poster hanging over his dresser, squinting his eyes until the image morphs into nothing but colors and shapes. "You're in Italy," he asks, trying to wrap his head around the idea.

"In about an hour I will be, yes," Pepper says, "so what I need from y—"

Peter lurches to his feet. "Italy? _Pepper!_ You can't be in Italy!" Peter tugs at his hair, and then winces when it pulls on the electrical burns along his scalp. "You and Tony have been in and out of meetings for Two Days! You're supposed to be _finalizing the SimTech Contract today!"_

Their group took months to draw up the proposal, they had team jamming sessions and think tanks. They put tons of time in effort into this deal. It's important. _Pepper **has to** be there._ She's the one that can run circles around all the other savvy businessmen without breaking into a metaphorical sweat.

"I know, Peter," Pepper says in a calm voice. "But the technical and legal talk has mostly been dealt with. Today is really to dot the I's and cross the T's. Just one more meeting to finalize the merger, and then we're home free." She pauses, and Peter gets a horrible sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Tony and I were supposed to tag-team it, but without me there, I need someone to keep him on track. Someone to hold his leash and make sure he doesn't try to do anything extravagant or skip out early."

"No," Peter says. Well, not so much _says,_ it's more like an utterance of pure instinct. Like a sneeze, or a cough, or a scream. "No. Absolutely not."

"You have been with us throughout this whole planning process, Peter. You know our position, you know what we are and aren't willing to budge on. Tony can deal with all the legal negotiating, you'd just need to make sure that by the end of the business day everyone's signatures are on that contract."

Peter's is gaping, he is standing here in a bloodied spandex onesie, staring at the mess of his college dorm room, in _utter_ and _complete shock._ Because Pepper did not just ask him to keep a Very Important Business Meeting on tack for her. She _couldn't_ have asked him to do that, because Peter is **A.** not Adult Enough for such a responsibility, and **B.** nowhere near qualified enough to participate in a business meeting.

"I _can't,"_ Peter tells her.

"It's mostly formalities at this point, Peter. All the big stuff has been taken care of. I just need you to stand in for me and keep the meeting on track. Tony will be there, he'll be taking the lead. You'll just be there as his support and occasional guidance."

"Oh my god," Peter says, smacking a hand to his forehead and tugging at his bangs, ignoring the way it makes his head sting. "Okay. Fine. I'll do it," he says, his voice just this side of hysterical. "But only because it's you, Pepper. And you _Owe Me._ You owe me _so big_ for this!"

"Thank you, Peter," Pepper says, "you're going to do great."

Peter looks at himself in his hanging mirror, taking in his ripped suit and his singed hair, the bags under his eyes and the sort of manic edge to his smile.

Holy heck-a-roonie, Peter has a lot of work to do if he wants to look presentable within the next hour.

"Sure," Peter mumbles into the receiver, "if you say so."

* * *

Peter is wearing the nicest clothes he owns.

They are the nicest clothes he owns, because he did not purchase them himself. About a year ago, Tony said that every man should own a nice suit, and then he proceeded to bully Peter into a fitting, where Peter was passive-aggressively made fun of by the tailor for two hours while he stood there in his underwear.

(Peter's self-esteem might've taken a hit that day if he had any left)

Peter doesn't actually know how much the whole ensemble costs, because he's pretty sure that if he glanced at any of the price-tags he would immediately throw up in his mouth.

Ignorance is bliss and all that.

So, when Peter walks onto the common floor of the Avengers Tower wearing something other than jeans, a baggy sweater, and converses the team instantly takes notice.

"Ohh _hhhhh!"_

"Lookin' _sharp,_ Parker!"

"Wow, pulling out all the stops today."

 _"Nice duds."_

"Didn't know you could clean up so well, Peter."

Someone _wolf whistles._

On a regular day Peter might've blushed and stammered at their teasing. He might've waved them off or thrown something sarcastic back. But not today. Today, Peter is on a Mission.

Peter marches over to the fridge and yanks it open, only taking a second to find what he is looking for. He snatches one of Clint's RedBulls from the top shelf, completely ignoring the sticky-note promising bodily harm attached to it, and shuts the fridge behind him.

Peter pulls his thermos out of his satchel and calmly fills it with what's left of this morning's coffeepot, very aware of the eyes locked on him. Then he pops open the RedBull-Can and upends it into the thermos as well.

He's pretty sure everyone's attention is on him now.

Peter doesn't care.

You have to have energy in order to care.

Peter fishes the 5-Hour Energy out of his pocket and dumps that in too. The smell coming from his thermos isn't exactly pleasant, but this isn't about pleasure. This is about _willpower,_ and drinking this horrendous (but lifesaving) concoction is what will grant Peter the willpower to get through the next six hours.

Peter takes a breath and chugs half of it in one go.

The room is deadly quiet around him. Peter looks up to find everyone openly staring. Their expression span from dubiously intrigued, to mildly impressed, to absolutely horrified.

 _Good._

They should fear Peter in all his sleep-deprived glory. He is more caffeine than (spider)human now. He could conquer the world in an adrenaline-induced frenzy right now and not even remember it in the morning.

He has ascended.

He is beyond them now.

"Peter…" Steve starts, because he is their leader and he takes charge in unknown and/or dangerous situations. "Are you sure that's the bes—"

Peter sets his bloodshot eyes on the man and jabs a finger at the embodiment of peace, truth, and justice, and says, "Don't sass me, Rogers. I need _this—"_ Peter stops to chug some more, "to _live."_

Steve literally takes a step back from him.

"Holy hell, Parker," Bucky calls, "what's your deal?"

Peter narrows his eyes at Bucky even as he takes another swig. "Doomsday, Barnes… Doomsday."

"We're gonna need a clue here, kid," Clint intones.

"Today," Peter starts, taking a breath. "I am Pepper."

"Uh oh," Bruce and Natasha say at the same time.

Tony strolls up to Peter, slinging an arm over the teenager's shoulders. "And may I say, the resemblance is uncanny." Peter elbows him, it doesn't faze Tony at all, he starts leading Peter toward the elevator. "You ready, Mr. Parker?"

Peter lets out a sigh that comes from his very bones. "As I'll ever be, Mr. Stark."

* * *

"I'm dead inside," Peter tells Gwen, apropos of nothing. A statement like that may have needed further explanation when coming from someone else, but when it comes to Peter and his melodrama Gwen needs no context.

Context is useless, context is given in the sense that it will add logic and/or rationality to the situation. There is no rationality to be found here, there is no logic in this place.

"More than usual?" she asks, not looking up from her work. She's injecting something into a bonsai tree, goggles over her eyes, a white lab coat hanging off of her frame.

Peter has the brief urge to snatch the syringe from her hands so he can stab it into his carotid artery. Going into anaphylactic shock or seizure is a legitimate excuse to get out of most things.

 _'Can't make it tonight! I'm currently in the ICU!_ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ '

 _'Sorry I didn't show up to your party. I was in the hospital. #FirstWorldProblems #Ouchie #ItBeLikeDatSometimes'_

 _'I'd love to come, BUT, I'm going into cardiac arrest._ (◕‿◕✿) _OK! Love you! Bye! :P'_

Who in their right mind would argue with an excuse like _that?_

And even if someone did try to argue that it is both unethical and unnecessary to stab one's self in the neck to get out of Board Meetings, it's not like Peter would be conscious to _hear them._ And really, isn't that all that matters in the end?

Actually, Peter isn't seeing a downside here.

Gwen is squinting at him from behind her goggles, her eyebrows scrunched up in consideration. "No," she says, before capping the needle and hiding it in her lab-coat pocket.

Peter was, evidently, eyeing the needle a little bit too eagerly.

 _Whoopsies._

Peter straightens, giving Gwen his most sincere smile- the one that scrunches the edges of his eyes and makes the freckles on his cheeks stand out. He is a sweet and innocent cinnamon roll, he would never think about stabbing himself in the neck.

 _He. Would. Never._

"Gwen," Peter starts, and if his voice is a little bit too high, too sharp, who could blame him? "I have a proposition for you."

"No," she says without hesitation.

Peter keeps talking like she hasn't said anything, gripping the clipboard in his hands so tightly the metal creaks. "A promotion of sorts," he continues. "With a substantial pay raise and everything."

Gwen is glaring at him, Peter stretches his smile to its limits. It feels like plastic on his face, he bets it _looks_ like plastic on his face- not an attractive expression at all, but not entirely a voluntary one either.

His Aunt used to say his face would 'Get Stuck Like That' when he made an angry or indignant expression. She never warned him about fake-smiles. This is what Peter is now, a corporate shmuck with a pod-person smile and a great dental plan.

"The requirements, however, Ms. Stacy." Peter bats his eyelashes at Gwen. "Is that you will need to start effective immediately. There is a business merger taking place right now. The occupants are in a quick recess, but you will be needed in—" Peter glances down to his watch, he feels his eye give an involuntary twitch when he sees what time it is. "Twelve minutes."

Peter glances back up at Gwen, his smile still in place, even if his eye is trying its best to ruin the carefully constructed facade. "You would be going in my place. The meeting, in short, is _incredibly enthralling_ and not soul-numbingly boring _at all._ I think you'll enjoy it. It's time you broadened your horizons, you won't regret it, Ms. Stacy."

"And while I'm in that wonderfully invigorating meeting," Gwen asks, pushing herself around the lab on her rolly-y chair with a practiced ease. "Where will you be?"

"Uruguay," Peter says with all the certainty he has left.

"Uruguay?" Gwen gives him a side-eye.

Peter nods vigorously, his bangs flopping against his forehead, his teeth _'click-clacking'_ together. He feels unhinged. Is this what feeling unhinged is like? Like you could explode at any moment, and if you have to sit in a stuffy room with a bunch of bureaucratic businessmen and Tony Stark, _for one more **second!**_ then you might just go postal?

Peter's eye seems to think so.

"But they'll think I'm in Pakistan," he goes on. "By the time they catch wind of where I'm actually hiding it will be too late. They'll never find the body."

Gwen raises one impeccably manicured eyebrow. Peter wonder's if that is somehow Johnny's doing, does Johnny have an eyebrow guy? Peter wouldn't put it past him. "The body?" she asks.

"Oh, did I… Did I _not say?"_ The plastic smile is back, Peter welcomes it. "I plan to shed this body and become an ethereal being."

"Of course," Gwen nods, like she understands, like that makes perfect sense. This is why Peter loves her, Gwen doesn't question his mental breakdowns, she just hops on the sinking lifeboat with Peter and rides out the waves.

"When's the last time you slept, Peter?" she asks.

Peter blinks at her, he doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. "Monday," he says, gripping the clipboard tighter.

"Alright," Gwen says, nodding again, her ponytail bouncing on her head. "You know what day it is, Pete?"

"The 18th."

"Okay, and the 18th is _aaaaa?"_ she draws out the letter, like the answer should be obvious, like she's waiting for Peter to put two and two together.

Peter is drawing a complete blank. He doesn't know. He has no idea what day of the week it is or when Monday was. He's been in that conference room for decades now. Peter will grow old and die in that room or spontaneously combust from the sheer monotony of it all.

Either way, Peter will die in there, surrounded by spreadsheets, stale coffee, and people he would like to sue for causing immense emotional distress due to unjustly detaining Peter against his will.

"The only way people will even know I existed will be from the butt-print I leave on that chair." There is a high-pitched creaking noise and then Peter is snapping his metal clipboard in two. He looks down at it in muted-surprise.

It's only when Gwen answers, that Peter realizes he said that out loud. "I'm sure they'll remember the assistant that had a nervous breakdown and had to be taken away by the men with big butterfly nets."

Peter looks up from his ruined clipboard, scoffing. "Like they could _catch me."_

* * *

Peter isn't sure how many hours, or days, or years later he emerges from the conference room, but when he does, he marches straight into the elevator and jabs the button for the Avengers' common floor without a backward glance.

When a convict is released from prison, does he look back?

When a soldier leaves the battlefield, does he look back?

When a patient is released from the hospital, does he look back?

 ** _HECKIN' NO!_**

The elevator 'dings' as it emits Peter, drawing the attention of the scattered few around the livingroom and kitchen.

There's some sort of trashy reality show playing softly, which means Thor got to the TV first. Sam and Bucky are aggressively playing poker at the coffee-table and pretending that neither of them are remotely interested in the proceedings of said trashy show.

"How'd the meeting go, Pete?" Sam asks, glancing at Peter from his place on the floor.

Peter doesn't answer, he isn't sure he could produce coherent words right now, stringing together a whole sentence is completely out of the question. Peter's fairly positive that if he opened up his mouth all that would come out is a thready screech of despair.

So, Peter doesn't answer, just waves vaguely in Sam's direction before he walks over to the kitchen sink. Peter turns the cold tap on full blast before he promptly shoves his head under the water.

Peter's brain is in need of cleaning.

This seems like the best course of action.

"Peter?" he hears Bruce tentatively call out from his place at the kitchen table.

Peter pulls his head out from under the faucet and calmly shuts the water off. His bangs are plastered to his face and sending cold rivets down his neck, soaking his dress shirt, and making goosebumps rise on his skin. He's dripping all over the place, there's already a little puddle pooling at his feet, but Peter no longer knows how to care.

He glances up from the puddle to find four sets of eyes staring at him in various states of shock, bewilderment, and worry.

"I am going to the guest room now," Peter tells them, no inflection in his voice, he doesn't have the energy for it. "I am going to sleep for the next sixteen hours and if anyone tries to wake me up before then, I will throw them out a window before jumping out myself."

Peter receives some very confused nods of agreement.

Peter thinks he might find himself scheduled for an impromptu psych-eval in his very near future.

It wouldn't be the first time.

"If any of you need me in any-way-shape-or-form, within the next twenty-four hours, I advise you to…not… _Don't…_ Just… ** _Do Not."_**

More nods of agreement. Even Tony, -who just made his way off the elevator after Peter abandoned him down on the 56th floor- is nodding along with Peter's demands.

Peter steps away from the puddle on the floor, his oxfords making a weak squelching sound against the tile. He gives the men in the room one last dead-eyed-stare before making a hasty exit.

Peter turns down the hallway and pushes open the door of the guest bedroom he always crashes in. The guest bedroom that is stocked with clothes in his size, the guest bedroom that's shelves are filled with his favorite books, the guest bedroom that mysteriously has a poster of Spider-Man hug up over the bed.

The guest bedroom that isn't really a guest bedroom at all.

Peter locks the door behind him and sheds his drippy clothes and doesn't bother to change into new ones. He has the urge to faceplant straight into the mattress, but he forces himself to crawl under the covers instead.

It has been a long day.

This is the _last time_ Peter ever does a favor for Pepper.

* * *

 **I realized that the last time I updated _this fic_ is the last time I wrote _Peter._**

 **Which...is kind of crazy.**

 **Hope you enjoyed the chapter, comments make me smile! :P**


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